


CC asks - x reader collection

by jade_earrings



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_earrings/pseuds/jade_earrings
Summary: This is where I'm posting completed x reader prompts from CuriousCat that got too long for the character limit. See chapter index for pairing descriptions.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Blanca x reader x Max

It's all huge hands and strong limbs and warm skin in a king-sized bed that somehow still seems too small.

You try to remember back to just twenty minutes before, or maybe thirty, there was some bourbon whiskey or maybe there wasn't, all you know is that now, you have both of them in bed and they're murmuring to you in low voices, Blanca's smooth and even-toned, while there's a harshness in Max's voice, a rough edge that makes you tremble. 

It's all a blur now, and they're both pressed against you, huge and thick and hard, Max's lips against your neck as Blanca's hand closes in your hair from behind.

Every single touch, every single brush of their lips or their hands or their teeth is everything you've ever craved. You wonder if they can hear your thoughts, or if it's just because you want, no, you /need/ every single thing they're willing to give you. 

And now, it's just rough stubble against your chest as a hot tongue wraps around one of your nipples, rough fingertips against the other, your nerves flaring as it peaks beneath Max's touch. 

Blanca's fingertips are trailing down your spine, over the curve of your ass before he sinks two fingers into you, and they slide in easily as you keen, unable to hold back. 

He fucks you hard and deep with his fingers before slipping them out of you, leaving you achingly empty, and now he's holding your hip firmly as he rubs the head of his cock against you. He pushes it in slowly, like he's gauging your expression even though he can't see your face.

You think that's it, that he's all the way in, that there's no way he isn't all the way in, but his hips are still moving, grinding against your ass as he keeps sinking into you, and you can feel your insides being spread apart, further than anything or anyone has before...

Blanca finally lets out a low groan as he fully seats himself inside of you, and he pauses, giving you a moment to breathe and get used to the feeling of his whole cock inside you before he starts to move, thrusting slowly, shallowly at first, and then... 

It's so big you swear you can feel your stomach bulging outward. The heel of Max's hand presses against it, rubbing the head of Blanca's cock as it's buried in you, Blanca's lips and breath at your neck and ear as he thrusts in even deeper. 

He exhales, hot against your ear and the nape of your neck as Max's lips travel from your chest down your stomach, and Max's hands trail down after, wrapping around your hipbones and holding you still as he closes his mouth around you, his tongue laving at the most sensitive spots. You can feel his stubble again, the hard angle of his jaw as he sucks around you, occasionally flicking you with the tip of his tongue.

Blanca makes a harsh, low noise against you, his chest vibrating against your back as Max's mouth brushes the base of his cock as it's buried inside you, and this spurs Max on, and he wraps his lips around you and sucks harder and harder until your head falls back and you come against his tongue with a cry. "That's it, baby," he rumbles against you, laughing a little as you throb weakly against his lips. 

Somehow, you know that's not the end of it, and you have a feeling the night is going to end with you coming over and over again until you're shooting dry… And now, you're wondering how many times you can possibly get off, how long you can possibly do this before collapsing completely… You're wondering this just as a pair of strong hands closes around your waist and flips you easily onto your stomach. 

You let your eyes close, your face pressed against the mattress as you're fucked completely full, and right now, it doesn't matter if it's Max or it's Blanca or if it's both, because you know that you'll take both of them, at the same time, all of their cum, everything that they're going to give you.


	2. Blanca x reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Reader's first time with Blanca

"You're up late."

His voice is smooth over the phone. You blink as you realize that he’s asking you a question. 

"Is there any particular reason?"

You're not sure whether to tell him the truth or to try to make something up on the spot. You know that if you lie, he'll see through it instantly.

"I need you," you say finally.

There's a pause. It feels like forever.

"I see," he answers.

You know his rule. He told you. But now, the contract is over, has been over for several days (not that you’ve counted…) and now, he doesn't ask you what you need him for. Which is a relief. You're not sure if you can say it out loud. It's almost as if he knows that.

You wait. He comes up through the back door. You had buzzed him in, even though you didn’t have to. If you hadn’t, he’d still be outside, in the damp night air at 3 AM, and then he’d be gone, like a whisper, like he’d never been there at all. 

And now that he’s here, towering over you, you feel like you can’t breathe. He removes his coat and drapes it softly over the back of a chair. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” 

You nod. You feel like it was rude to not offer him a seat, to not offer anything to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hair is loose, falling against his shoulders. The last time you saw him, it was pulled back. You can’t stop staring. 

"Are you going to tell me the real reason I'm here?"

He's playing with you now. There's no way he doesn't know. Right? 

He watches you for a moment, then leans forward, just barely into your space. His hand reaches out slowly, and he cups the side of your face gently, almost lovingly, his skin slightly cold from the night air as his thumb presses against your jaw. 

“Is this why I’m here?” 

You nod. 

“I need you to say ‘yes’.”

You open your mouth to speak, and instead, you inhale sharply as you fully take in the feeling of his hand against your skin. 

“Yes,” is all you say. 

His eyes are dark, and there’s something just beneath the surface that flickers, as if he’s fascinated. 

You don’t have to direct him. He bends down and picks you up easily, carrying you to the bed, which he lays you down on, impossibly gently. He surrounds you, and your hands slide up his chest, your fingertips running against his shirt, up to the collar before slipping down once more to the buttons. You start undoing them slowly. As his shirt opens, you press your fingertips against hard muscles, soft skin, soft chest hair, and as he makes a low noise in his throat, you can feel it reverberate in his chest, against your hands. 

He reaches up, the heel of his hand against your throat as his fingers wrap around the back of your head, his nails against the nape of your neck. And finally, he kisses you.

It’s forceful but controlled, his lips are soft, and he knows just how to move them against your own. He tastes like mint, a hint of something sharp, and a whisper of tobacco. 

You moan softly into his mouth. 

He lets out a low groan as his hands move over you, removing your shirt and pants in single, smooth motions. His own shirt follows, and then his slacks, his belt clinking against the floor. And now, he’s all huge, toned muscles and soft skin as your hands reach up to run over his arms, his sides, his chest. When your fingertips reach the ends of his hair, just brushing his collarbones, he makes a low, satisfied noise, a different one, one you haven’t heard him make yet.

His hand trails down your chest, your stomach, your hips, his fingertips rubbing you open in slow circles, a trail of wetness in their wake. You’re starting to feel faint now, and you’re not sure how much longer you can take it, the teasing, the sensation of him touching you but not yet being inside you. 

You can feel his cock pressing against you now, huge and solid, the head sliding against you slowly as he takes his time. In the dark, you think you can see him watching your face. 

“Now,” you manage to murmur, firmly enough to let him know that you’re tired of the teasing, tired of him handling you carefully, as if you’re made of glass. 

He exhales, his breath heavy and warm against your shoulder as he starts to push into you, slowly at first. Your head falls back against the mattress, your mouth open wordlessly, unable to make a sound. You can feel yourself stretch open around him, and there isn’t a place inside you of you that he can’t reach. He knows this, and he’s still going slowly, as if he’s waiting for you to affirm that he can continue. As if he’s holding back. 

You can’t stand it.

“Harder,” you murmur, and you can practically feel him stop. As if you’ve caught him off guard. After a beat, he pushes into you fully, letting out a low noise that is almost a growl. Your legs tremble as they come up to wind around his hips.

You can practically feel the shift in him, feel him making a decision. He braces one hand against the bed, the other holding you down as he thrusts into you, hard and deep.

You can tell you feel even better than he was expecting. He lets out a quiet “ _Oh…”_ before he starts moving his hips faster, his cock filling you deeper and deeper as the rate of his breathing turns harsh against your neck. 

Suddenly, his hips slow, and he kisses you roughly before laying his hands against your hips and turning you onto your hands and knees. One of his hands spreads across your lower back, and he pushes your torso down against the bed as his other hand grabs your hip, forcing your ass upward. 

He’s not holding back now. Every thrust feels like it’s splitting you apart, and you can feel something burn low in your gut, building. 

When you turn your head, you can see that he’s staring at the mirror, his hands completely enveloping your ass as he drives into you. You’re watching now, and you can see the outline of his face and neck and jaw as he arches against you, and you can feel him shooting inside you with a harsh groan, his fingertips pressing bruises into your skin that you know you will definitely be able to feel tomorrow.


	3. Max x reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Max fingering the reader

You don’t remember if you told him to meet you here or not. It’s a relief, though. You didn’t want to go to his place. At the time, you thought it would be weird, seeing the evidence of his life casually strewn around. You imagine it’s papers, photos, cigarette butts, maybe a stray bottle of bourbon. But mostly pictures. Of people who aren’t you. You’re not jealous. Not really. You try not to think about it. 

You don’t have much time to think anyway, because you have the keys to your apartment out, in your hand, when you see him outside the door of your building. He smiles as he sees you, and drops the end of his cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with his boot. As you step closer, you can see the fabric of his shirt stretched over firm biceps, slightly defined pectorals. 

As you stand next to him in the elevator, as you see both of your reflections, it sinks in how much bigger he is than you are. Finally, this is happening. 

“I guess we’re doing this,” you think.

“What?” he asks. 

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Nothing.” 

Something about it doesn’t feel real. All you know is that you want to ride his face until you have burns from his stubble on the insides of your thighs. And now...

You barely make it in the door before his lips are against yours. You manage to kick the door shut, groping for the lock with one hand. It clicks. Your other hand slides into his hair, and he lets out a low groan against your mouth. 

You don’t make it to the bed, but you do make it to the couch. You’ve already shed your jacket and your shirt, leaving a trail of clothes on your way there. Your knees hit the side of the couch, and you grab the front of his shirt on the way down, pulling him on top of you as you fall against the cushions. 

“Fuck,” he growls. You realize that he’s staring. 

“What?” you ask, breathless. 

“You...” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. 

“Your body. Fucking perfect,” he finishes. His hands run over you, up your sides and then back down, closing over your hips. 

You reach for his shirt to pull it over his head. He looks even more broad without it. You can see the light, soft-looking hair at the center of his chest. You reach down to start shoving your pants down, and he helps pull them off of your legs. Immediately his head drops, and his jaw and stubble grind against you, his hands still moving over your skin. 

He pulls back just enough so that he can press his fingertips against you. They’re big and rough and you moan audibly. He makes a low noise, encouraged as he slides your underwear down. He taps one fingertip against you, and then moves it against you, parting you wetly and pushing inside. 

“How many is that?” you ask him. 

He laughs. "One?" 

“Shit,” you breathe. 

“You want another one?” 

You nod. 

You glance down. The muscles in his arms flex as he pushes his fingers deeper into you, drawing them out slowly with a loud, slick sound. 

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth as you exhale heavily, your skin and breath heating up against your palm. As he grinds his fingers inside you, you go slack against the couch, your eyes rolling back as you come, hard, his words echoing in your ears as you squeeze around him.

“Fuck, _there_ you go, babe…”


	4. Shorter x reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Shorter Wong x reader
> 
> in which Shorter may or may not have gotten you kicked out of the Holidome but at least you had a good time 
> 
> Note: Female reader
> 
> Inspired by [this incredible art](https://twitter.com/kaocaotan/status/1337094223644934146?s=19).

You make it back to your hotel room after what seems like forever, past the low roar of voices from the lobby funneling upward through the floors. Before the door is even shut, he’s already undoing his tie. 

“Great party.”

He grins at you easily as you make sure the door is locked and deadbolted behind you. When you turn to face him, the tie is loose around his neck, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. You can see his collar bones. 

“Your coworkers are fun,” he adds.

“Something tells me we’re not going to be invited back to the Holidome,” you tell him.

He laughs.

“They _really_ need to put more space in between the mini golf and the pool.”

“Yeah,” you reply, not quite sure what you just affirmed. Whatever he just said has already evaporated from your mind, and all you can do is stare as his fingers move over the next button.

His shirt is open now, the tie still laying loosely against his skin. He reaches up to pull it further away, and your eyes travel down to the front of his pants, where there are still huge wet spots from the pool water, all the way down to his waterlogged dress shoes. 

When your gaze travels upward once more, you see that his sunglasses are gone, somewhere on the desk or the TV stand or the bedside table, and his hair has come loose, flopping against his forehead, the ends brushing his eyelashes. 

You know what it means when the sunglasses come off. 

You inhale sharply as you feel yourself surge toward him, your hands against his chest, slipping beneath his shirt as you lean into him, your face at his jaw. When you pull back, you see that you left a lipstick smear at the corner of his mouth, right next to his lips. He laughs a little. 

“Ready to go already, huh?” His eyes flicker as he reaches up to wipe the smear with the back of his hand. He stares at you for a second, his gaze full of heat as he leans in to press his lips against yours. His hands wander, slipping down your back until they rest heavily at your waist, his thumbs pressing against your hip bones through your dress. As his tongue touches yours, his hands move again, this time to close around your ass. He squeezes roughly until you make a noise against his lips. 

“Yeah? That what you want?” he murmurs in your ear as he backs you up to the bed and pushes you down onto it, your back flat against the mattress. He kisses you again, long and deep, then starts moving his lips over your jaw, his breath rasping in your ear for a moment before he keeps moving downward, sucking lightly at your neck. 

He reaches under you, and you feel his fingertips at your spine, working the clasp of your bra open through your dress. You sigh as the tension around your ribcage disappears. And then, both of his hands envelop you, squeezing lightly as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. 

He pauses long enough to pull your dress up around your hips, and his hands slide up your thighs slowly. “These are nice,” he remarks as his hands slip under the fabric. When he slides them down, the lace brushes against your skin. 

There is maybe a second before his mouth is buried between your legs. “Damn, that just from me?” He laughs a little and pulls back slightly as his tongue traces over you, as he watches your face. You don’t have time to answer before he lowers his head once more, his lips against you as he hums. 

The last coherent thought you have is that you wish you’d put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.


	5. Ash x reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Ash x reader

As you unlock the door to your apartment, you swear you hear something. 

Not the metallic sound of your keys, but a pillowy thump, coming from somewhere inside your apartment. 

You freeze, listening. There’s some shuffling, the sound of the refrigerator closing, and then opening again. You take another step. Maybe if you turn on the light, you’ll scare whoever, whatever it is. Your throat is tight, poised, ready to scream. 

He’s standing in the glow of the light from the refrigerator, the door hanging open behind him. His mouth is open, his expression shocked. He has a jar of peanut butter, _your_ peanut butter, in one hand, a spoon in the other, a spoon that has obviously just been licked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“I…”

You try to speak, but your heart is still beating too fast and too loud and you can’t think. He has floppy blond hair, piercing light eyes, and elegant, long limbs.

You can’t help but stare. He’s _gorgeous._

“Well?”

You blink. 

“I live here,” you tell him. 

“No, _I_ live here.”

He blinks slowly. Apparently, he doesn’t consider you a threat.

You take a step toward him. He looks at you, and then the fridge, and then his eyes sweep the rest of the apartment, and he exhales slowly. 

“Shit.” He looks chagrined. “My bad.” 

His posture is completely relaxed now. You think you smell alcohol. 

“Wait, are you drunk?” you ask him. 

“A little.” He smiles easily. “Just tipsy.”

“How did you get in?” you ask him.

“Figured I forgot my keys.” He’s amused. “You need to get a deadbolt.”

“Thanks,” you answer.

He snorts softly as he sets the jar and the spoon down on the counter, a clattering of metal against the hard surface. 

“Why do you keep your peanut butter in the fridge?” he asks suddenly.

“Why do _you_?” you shoot back. 

He smiles. He is _radiant_. 

“You’re cute.” He takes a step toward you. “Let me make it up to you.” 

You can feel your face flush. 

"Uh."

"What?" He's closer now, so close that you can smell him. Vanilla, a hint of vodka, just the slightest wisp of peanut butter. "You got a boyfriend?" 

You could lie. You decide not to. 

"No," you answer, truthfully. 

"Great." He smiles again, and you're wondering if he is even real. Maybe he's some kind of apparition, or some kind of sex demon that accidentally (or not-so-accidentally) broke into your apartment. An incubus in a white t-shirt and blue jeans. 

It doesn't matter. He's so close now that all you can see are his lips. When his hand touches the side of your face, it's icy and white-hot all at the same time.

"Don't worry."

His voice is smooth, even. It washes over you. 

"I'll be sure to lock up when I leave." 

His lips are on yours now. He kisses you fully, one slim arm wrapping easily around your waist. You kiss him back, hard, and he backs you against the wall as you moan softly against his mouth.

You don't care who or what he is, because right now, in this moment, you belong to him. 

The next morning, you wake up with a headache. When you finally make your way out to the kitchen, the first thing you see is the spoon, still smeared with peanut butter, still sitting on the counter.


	6. Ash x female reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Ash x female reader riding him

As you drop your hips once more, sliding down his length until he’s seated deep inside you, he lets out a moan that makes the whole world stop on its axis. He’s arched against the bed, his eyes rolling back as you move your hips, establishing a rhythm on his cock.

His hands slide up around your hips, and he grips you as his own hips lift from the mattress slightly as he grinds up into you. When you lay your hands flat against his chest, you can feel his next moan burgeoning deep as it travels up his throat and then tumbles from his lips. 

“Fuck, this is, you’re…”

He gasps the words, his fingertips sinking further into your skin as he grips your hips firmly, almost roughly. His hands linger there for a moment, and then at your waist, and then they start to wander. His fingertips are smooth as they travel over your skin, your chest, your collarbones...

You think back to an hour ago (or was it two hours ago?), when you saw him at the bar, a beer in his hand as he has an intense conversation with a tall guy with a purple mohawk. 

You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but...

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a girl,” the taller one is telling him, amused. 

“Yeah, I do,” the blond one shoots back as the taller one laughs. “I’ve slept with lots of girls.” 

"Sure, Ash." 

_Ash._ He’s telling the taller guy something that you can’t hear, and then...

"Fine, _that_ girl." Your stomach jolts as you realize the tall one is pointing at _you._ You turn your head to look over your shoulder in disbelief, because there’s no way, _no way_ he’s talking about you. And then, you realize that there is no one behind you.

_Shit._

You turn back around to see the blond guy, Ash, walking toward you, drawing closer and closer until he’s inches away, until you can feel his breath. But he doesn’t come any closer. Instead, he slides onto the bar stool next to yours while giving you a devastating smile. 

“What are you drinking?” he asks you. 

You don’t remember what you told him. 

Later, when you leave the bar with him, you think you see the taller guy, the one from earlier with the purple mohawk, give him a thumbs up. 

Right now, you don’t care. 

You know you’ll always remember this night. Because when you glance down at him, he’s gazing up at you like he’s in love. His hand comes up to stroke your cheek, touching you almost like you’re made of glass. 

He is yours. 

The next morning, after he’s left your place, you call Shorter. He picks up after a few rings. 

“Got it done,” you tell him. “Easy.”

“Shit!” he exclaims, laughing. “Fine, I guess I owe you some money.” 

After you hang up, you dial Ash's number. He picks up after one ring. 

"He fall for it?" he asks you.

"Oh, yeah," you tell him. 

"Good." He lets out a low laugh into the receiver. "Same time next week? I've got some ideas." 

_Sure_ , you think. _Why not?_ They're both fun, and you're the one getting the best deal out of this, after all.


	7. Max x female reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from CC: Max x female reader smut
> 
> aka that time you objectified Max at your job 
> 
> CW for smoking, alcohol

It’s a slow afternoon at the men’s clothing store where you work, and you’re almost bored enough to start dusting the cologne counter (your manager asked you to earlier, because it's filthy) when you feel a draft at your ankles as the door opens, the fall air sending a chill all the way to the register. 

As he walks in, you stop. 

You're used to seeing all kinds of guys walk through here. The main age range for this particular store's clientele is anywhere from forty to eighty (not that you're complaining). So mostly old guys, a few younger guys, and most of the time they're so ubiquitous that you barely look at them twice. 

Except for this one. 

He has to be in his mid-to-late thirties, a little younger than you usually go for, but he’s big, with muscular arms, soft-looking hair, clear blue eyes that crinkle slightly at the corners, nice teeth. 

Thank god you’re the only one working today. You probably would have knocked your coworkers out of the way to get to him before they did. 

"Need to get fitted for a tuxedo. For a wedding," he says as he approaches the counter. 

You realize that you’re staring. 

“Yeah.” You blink. “Wedding party name?” 

The name he tells you doesn’t sound familiar. 

“Let me go pull the file,” you tell him, leaving him by the register.

The file room is more like an old fitting room-turned-closet-turned-office. It still smells musty and the only light is the one lightbulb on the ceiling that you pull a string to turn on. 

When you open the cabinet and leaf through the files, you realize that you didn't take this particular tuxedo order, your manager did. That's why you don't remember. 

When you emerge once more, he’s still there, his hip leaning slightly against the counter, and the way he's watching you is…not aggressive, not even weird, just…like he's curious about something, and you're not sure what. 

"Which one are you?" you ask him. You didn’t mean for it to come out that abruptly. 

He laughs. 

"Max." 

_Max._ You thumb through the folder until you see a sheet with his name. _Max Glenreed._

He's not the groom. Good.

You take the sheet to the fitting area and wave him over, putting a pen between your teeth as you grab one of the soft measuring tapes.

You start with his sleeve, moving behind him so you can press the end of the tape at the base of his neck. You then draw the tape down softly against his left arm, pivoting around his elbow so that you can extend the tape to the break of his wrist. 

He's not wearing a wedding ring. 

You move to face him once more and take a step forward. Now, you're so close you can smell his cologne. 

It's compelling and familiar. You've smelled it before, many times, definitely at work. Bleu de Chanel. You're 99 percent sure. But on him, it's...different, mingling with the light, almost clean scent of his sweat.

You feel your face heat up slightly, your heart beating faster as you raise slightly on your tiptoes to wrap the tape measure loosely around his neck. As you try to focus on the point where the tape overlaps, you can feel that he's warm beneath your fingertips where they're laying delicately against where his shirt collar meets his skin. 

You almost forget to look at the number, the one you need for his shirt neck measurement. 

"17, 35," you mumble, pulling the tape away from his throat as you turn toward the table, scribbling the numbers down in the boxes on the rental sheet. You already know his jacket size just by looking at him. 

"Is that good?" He laughs. 

"Real good," you tell him, like you're confirming that he just passed a test. This makes him laugh again. 

You send him into the dressing room with a pair of suit pants to try on. Flat front, not pleated. It'd be a crime to put him in pleated pants. You also may have given him what you know is probably a size too small. 

"Uh-"

He emerges, chagrined as the fabric of the pants hug his hips and ass a little too tightly. 

You inhale sharply.

"Can I get the next size up?" he asks, giving you a slight smile. 

"Yeah." You put the pen behind your ear, then pull the next size from the rack and hand it to him. 

"Thanks." He looks genuinely grateful as he takes the pants and disappears into the dressing room again. 

You know that you _really_ need to stop staring, so you turn your attention back to the rental sheet. There's a post-it note toward the bottom.

"They say here you can pick the color of your tie, no charge," you tell him as he emerges from the dressing room once more. 

"Ah." He looks chagrined again. "I'm not good at stuff like this." He reaches up to touch the back of his neck. "You want to pick it for me?" 

This is what you were afraid of. Now, you're going to have to look at him even more closely, so that you can determine which color would mesh the best with his complexion, what specific combination would make him light up. Your gaze lingers on his clear blue eyes a little too long. There's a depth, a variation in the color that makes you forget to breathe. 

The tie you choose seems to shift colors depending on the light, from light to medium blue, with a faint embossed paisley pattern, one that you can't see unless you're up close. You hand it to him with a confidence that you hope is clear in your face, even though inside, you're not sure if you're pulling it off.

He turns it over in his hands, his eyes moving over it as his fingertips trace the fabric. 

“It’s nice,” he says finally, looking genuinely pleased, and also relieved. 

You smile back at him. Is this your idea of flirting? Ugh. 

Luckily, you get bailed out. Someone is calling his cell phone. He looks at you apologetically and shifts his weight to his other leg as he answers it. 

As you ring up the tie, he sets his hand on the counter, and you can see his ring finger once more, except this time, it’s up close. Not a tan line. But a callous. Skin rubbed surely over the years. And now, the space is empty. Waiting for something, probably. 

“Yeah. My kid’s with his mom this weekend.” 

Your ears prick up. Divorced? Perfect. Kid? Even better. 

When the tux order is delivered to the store, your manager asks you to make the calls to the wedding party members, telling them that they can come pick up their tuxes before the wedding this weekend.

You shut yourself in the kind-of office with the file once more, your eyes hovering over his name and phone number. You suck in a deep breath and dial, almost hoping you'll get his voicemail. Of course, he picks up on the third ring. 

“Is this Max?” You tell him your name, how you’re calling from the store to tell him that his tux is ready for him to pick up. Your heart is thudding in your ears, and you hope to god he can’t hear it.

“Yeah, I remember.” He laughs a little. His tone is warm, relaxed, non-threatening. You could listen to him all day as he talked about anything at all. “I’ll come by. Thank you,” he makes a point to add. 

You barely think to say you’re welcome before you hang up.

_Shit._

You’ve had crushes on customers before but this… This is different. 

There’s just something about him. 

You have his number. It’s on his rental sheet. You could call him. On your own time, not while you’re at work. No, that would be weird. He didn’t give you his number. The only reason you have it is because of a completely professional exchange. Kind of. 

You’re not scheduled the day he comes in to get fitted. And you’re pissed about it, but you figure it might have saved you some embarrassment. 

Saturday night, you sit at home all evening, bored, before you make the decision to go out. Alone. You’re feeling a little fatalistic, but nothing a drink or two won’t fix. 

And now, here he is, at _your_ favorite bar. 

Before you can think twice, you feel yourself getting up, crossing the bar, sliding onto the barstool next to him. 

“This place is a dive,” you tell him. “Groom wanted to come?”

“How’d you know?” He laughs as he brings his beer to his lips. “He wanted us to see the local sights.” He gives you what seems like a pointed look, and holds your gaze a little too long before he gives you a slightly crooked smile.

"Got a lot of compliments on the tie," he adds. 

Your eyes drop to his collar. The tie is loosened around his neck, but not stretched out. 

"Wait, really?" You laugh. You don't tell him you picked it to match the color of his eyes. The variation of his irises. You won't tell him. Not yet, anyway.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pants pockets. The tux pants. Even in the not-great lighting, you can see the satin stripe running down the outseam. 

"That tux is a rental, you know," you tease.

"Yeah, I know." You swear you see his eyes sparkle. “Want to step outside?” 

The blue of his eyes. The angle of his jaw. 

And to think, you almost didn't come out tonight.

You’re not drunk. Not really. And neither is he. And yet, as soon as you're out the door, your bodies crash into each other, pulled together like magnets. Your mouth meets his, and you narrowly miss knocking your teeth together as you kiss him fiercely, his stubble against your skin as his strong jaw grinds against your own. You pull away so that you can gaze up at him for a moment. Now that you’re here, like this, this close to him, he makes you feel tiny. You can’t get enough. 

The walk back to your apartment is short, but it feels like time has stopped. He’s relaxed at your side, and you can practically feel him smiling, even though you’re not looking at his face. You hear a click as he lights a cigarette, and he takes a deep pull from it, filling his lungs completely before he exhales. 

You’re drowning in his kiss again as you push the door to your apartment shut behind you. This time, he’s the one who breaks the kiss and pulls back so that he can look at you. You’re breathless, your hands pressed flat against his chest as his eyes move over your face in the dark. He waits a beat, and then leans in to kiss you again, something soft in his expression right before his eyes close and his mouth melts against yours. 

Thank god you cleaned your apartment before you left. Thank god you don’t have to worry about an unmade bed or your clothes strewn everywhere.

Well, until now.

His fingers are big and a little rough as they slide under your shirt against your skin, his hands cupping your ribcage as you back him up to the bed, and it barely takes any force to push him down onto his back on the mattress as you pull your shirt over your head and let it fall to the floor somewhere next to the bed. Your fingers are moving at his shirt buttons, opening them one by one as you move down his chest, pushing the fabric away from his warm skin as you lay your hands against him. 

You let your hands linger against his chest for a moment before you slide them down his stomach, where there’s a hint of softness just above his belt. Your fingertips start undoing the buckle, and then the button, and then the inside button, and then the zipper, and his cock is pressing against your palm, hot and hard through the fabric of his underwear. 

When you pull it out, it fills your whole hand, and as your fingers wrap around it, he lets out a groan so deep that it almost surprises you. You let your hand slide over it again, and you can feel that it curves a little, and the rim of the head a little calloused, like his fingertips. You stroke it until you feel precum bead at the tip.

“Fuck,” he blurts out.

“Do you have a…” you begin to ask him.

He answers before you have to finish the question. 

“Yeah. Pants pocket.”

You lean over and reach inside the tux pants pocket, and you feel the edges of the plastic wrapper against your fingertips as you pull it out and hand it to him. He has it on almost instantly, easily, like he’s done this a million times. 

You don’t mind. 

As you sink down onto his cock, you gasp. It fills you fully, big enough but not too big, and the heat and hardness makes you moan, your head dropping back as your hips settle against his own, his hip bones grinding against the undersides of your thighs. 

"Fuck," he slurs again. 

His hands slide upward, from your hips to your waist to your chest, and he cups you with both hands, a low noise rumbling from deep in his chest as he squeezes lightly, thumbing your nipples, which immediately stiffen against his fingertips. 

You lean down to kiss him, long and deep, and he tastes only a little bit like cigarettes. When you pull away and straighten up once more, his hands slide around your waist and he grips you, holding you firmly as you roll your hips over his cock. 

His thumb is rough on the hood of your clit. It feels perfect. 

After several moments, he grunts and flips you onto your back and pulls your legs up around him as he draws up on the bed, his thumb still working your clit as he watches your face, until you arch back and come hard against his fingers.

He shoots deep inside you with a groan seconds later. 

It’s quiet now, apart from the sounds of your breathing as the sweat starts to evaporate from your skin. 

“I need another cigarette,” he laughs. 

You have an idea. 

You’ve only been up to the roof a couple of times. Mostly because you haven’t really had a reason to. Until now. 

You have the jacket on, his tux jacket that he draped over your shoulders before you both stepped out of your apartment. You lead him up the concrete stairs in the dimly-lit stairwell, the one that leads up to the top floor. You pull the door to the roof garden open and wait for him to step outside before you close it as quietly as you can. 

There’s some sad patio furniture, a rusty grill, but the view of the city is incredible.

As he steps toward the ledge, you take in his silhouette against the stars. The lighter clicks, and there is a single flame in the dark as you stand next to him, looking out at the sky. 

You’re so glad it wasn’t his wedding. 

You hear his voice above you. The smoke looks cold as he exhales. 

“We should do this again sometime.” 

The next day, he brings the tux back during your shift. 

He's in jeans and what looks like a t-shirt under a jacket, and he looks a little hungover. He gives you an easy smile as he lays the tux out on the counter. 

"Thanks,” is all he says, his expression warm, his gaze lingering on you as he turns to leave. 

That's it? You sigh as you pull the tux across the counter. All the pieces are there, at least. And even if they weren’t, you know that you could probably find them somewhere in your apartment. 

You always go through the pockets. Occasionally customers will leave money, cigarettes, condoms. It’s always a game of chance when you reach inside. 

You’re patting down the pockets when you feel something. You pull out the piece of paper and unfold it. It’s a note with his number. 

_Had fun. Call me. -Max_

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jade_earrings)
> 
> [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/jade_earrings)


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